


It's a Restless Hungry Feeling

by KatyaZel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1981, Anxiety, Dinner Party, F/M, Female Friendship, Godric's Hollow, Interpersonal dynamics playing out ALL over the place, M/M, Male Friendship, Multiple Pov, Paranoia, Restlessness, Some of them, friendship but make it dysfunctional?, they're trying their best, thoughts and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-08-05 18:25:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16372715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatyaZel/pseuds/KatyaZel
Summary: It's September, 1981. James and Lily need distraction. Peter is clingy, Remus is choking, Sirius is paranoid. Alice is practical, Frank is thoughtful, Marlene is dead. Why not throw a dinner party?





	1. Chapter 1

They passed restlessness months ago. James and Lily are properly stir-crazy by now, each seeking ways to cope. As August slowly eats its way towards autumn, Lily spends more time in the potions lab and James rearranges every room in the house multiple times. Lily is sure Harry will be the brightest kid at Hogwarts, simply due to the amount of time they have to dedicate towards him. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’s reading within the year. 

 

They fight, sometimes, reliving simpler days. Lily will feel annoyance flare up at him every time she sees that old lazy boastfulness turn up. Sometimes she feels annoyance flare up at him for no reason at all, other than that she’s seen him sip morning tea in the exact same way for so many days straight. One particularly bad evening, she locks herself in Harry’s nursery and cries against the door as she holds her son. She can feel James, sitting right on the other side of the door, but for once he knows better than to say anything. Finally, she says, just loud enough for him to hear, “I’m sorry. This is too hard. I shouldn’t blame you.” And she doesn’t, usually.

 

Sometimes, things seem almost normal, though, and on a particularly pleasant day in mid September, they sit outside and watch the early morning sun cast shadows and light on the garden, each other, Harry. Lily rests her head on James’s shoulder and pretends they’re all safe. She hasn’t been paying much attention to what James is saying, but he’s fallen expectantly silent. “Sorry?” she asks, hoping he won’t mind her inattentiveness.

 

He doesn’t, just smiles fondly. “I was talking about the owl I got yesterday. From Peter? He wants to come visit.”

 

Lily grimaces. “Again?” At James’s reproachful look, she rolls her eyes. “I’m sorry, you know I love him, but he’s been so... _ dreary _ lately. Dreary and all over us.” This was true. If Peter Pettigrew had always been a little more clingy than Lily had liked, lately, he had been positively dependant. Not many days passed between his letters, and not many more than that passed between his drop-ins. It was touching, she supposed, and his concern for his friends was visible each time. But it seemed, too, that he could barely make a decision these days without asking James’s opinion. 

 

“I know,” James admits, “But this is hard for him.” He ignores Lily’s pointed snort, instead bouncing Harry on his knee. James grins suddenly. “What about a dinner party?” Lily can tell as soon as he says it that it’s an idea that he won’t be letting go, and she notes with resignation and fondness as it spreads across his whole face. “Oh! Wait, can we? That’s  _ excellent _ , like we’re proper, normal grown-ups. A  _ dinner party. _ ”

 

“James,” Lily tries to contain her laughter, because he’s so excited and she hasn’t seen him this genuine in weeks. “Slow down. How--or, why--”

 

“No, Lily, this is brilliant.” Harry, suddenly neglected, begins to fuss as James grows kinetic with an idea. “We can invite Peter, and Sirius, and Remus, and cook--god, I don’t know, what do posh people cook for a dinner party?”

 

“What, now we’re posh? You’re the one with the pedigree, you should know more than I what to serve.” Lily can’t deny that it’s a little infectious, this energy he has going. “I think it would be fun,” she concedes. “What about Alice and Frank?”

 

“ _ Brilliant. _ ” He gives her a look of relief and then a kiss. Then he seems to hesitate. “Is it too conspicuous?”

 

She knows what he means; Dumbledore has been reticent to let them do approximately anything, but fuck it, they need  _ some _ kind of change. “I think it’s okay.” She looks at Harry, who is suddenly fascinated by James’s glasses. “ _ He _ won’t know. And these are all our best friends. And Dumbledore trusts them enough, right?”

 

James needs little convincing to pursue his plan wholeheartedly, and while Lily herself is not wholly swayed by her logic, James begins to rattle away about invitations and menus. Moments like this remind her that when it comes down to it, they’re still just kids, playacting. A dinner party is far more sophisticated than any of his schemes, but James is applying himself in the exact same way he used to at Hogwarts. 

 

Months of laying low have left Lily jumpy. She wants to go, somewhere far away, anywhere really, but at the same time the thought of not being with Harry and in the relative safety of their home is terrifying. She hates this. Lily is not supposed to get  _ nervous _ . She’s not supposed to panic about having five or six friends over. And yet as James continues to talk, she finds herself digging her nails into her palms and staring fixedly at the ground.

 

James notices, eventually, and changes his tone. “We don’t have to, Lily,” he reassures her softly. “It’s just a silly idea. I understand.”

 

“Don’t be an idiot,” she manages. “I think it’s a good idea. It’s just--look at him, James.” They watch their son for a moment, and she is afraid. After a pause, Lily says softly, “And Marlene.”

 

James breathes in sharply. Marlene’s death is recent enough that it still twists like a knife every time Lily thinks about it, but enough months have passed that she doesn’t think about it constantly. James squeezes her shoulder as she takes a few shaky breaths. “It’s just the kind of thing we’d have invited her to, you know? It’s hard.”

 

James kisses her forehead. “It is.” For all that she resents about their lives now, she’s grateful for this change in her husband. Hemmed in and forced to think more than he acts, he’s stopped trying to  _ fix _ everything. He knows that right now, all she needs to hear is that confirmation and all she needs to feel is his warmth next to her. 

 

Moments pass, several of them, and Lily feels like an enormous ship is sailing slowly by. But it too passes and she’s able to collect herself enough to smile at her husband, pick up her child, and stand. “Let’s go inside. Write some letters.”

 

James beams at her. “ _ Brilliant _ ,” he says once more.

__________

 

Remus stares at his wardrobe like it’s an arithmancy problem and it stares right back, offering no help whatsoever. He knows this should be easy--it’s just James and Lily. But he feels something gnawing away at him as he tries to find his most presentable outfit. 

 

The problem with having no prospects and a live-in boyfriend, he thinks as he looks for a tie, is that he hasn’t had an occasion to dress up in three years. They’ve moved twice in that time, and after he gave up on job interviews, he figured it would lighten the load to give up his nicer clothes. 

 

Finally, he finds a pair of pants that he spells the wrinkles out of and a deep green button-down shirt. Still no tie, and his nicest shoes wouldn’t sell for love or money, but it’s a better starting point. He wonders why this  _ thing _ in the pit of his stomach won’t give up and he hates himself for it. “It’s  _ fine _ ,” he says out loud, trying to believe himself. “There is nothing wrong.”

 

Louder, he shouts, “Can I borrow a tie?” Even this makes his throat tighten, because at some point it became hard to ask Sirius for anything. 

 

From the kitchen, Sirius assents with a short “Yeah,” and this only puts Remus more on edge but he tries to shove the entire knot in his chest comfortably down to the bottom of his stomach where it can’t bother anyone. He digs around and finds a brown silk tie and as he picks it up his fingers remember it on Sirius, months ago, when things had been normal and they had tried to go on a real date to a real restaurant. They had come home, laughing and tipsy on sweet wine and Remus had removed this tie from Sirius’s shirt as they kissed in the doorway.

 

He tries to shake the memory, now, and ignores how unnaturally tight it feels around his neck. He checks the time but is unsure whether he’s relieved or frustrated that they still have ten minutes before they have to leave. 

 

After standing stock still in the bedroom for a few minutes, he forces himself to walk to the kitchen, where Sirius is finishing up the Devon pie they’ve promised to bring. He glances up when Remus walks in but is displaying a remarkable amount of focus on their contribution to the dinner. “Is it almost done?” Remus asks. He knows it is.

 

“Nearly,” Sirius responds, with a brief and unenthusiastic smile aimed approximately at Remus. “Be ready in two, three minutes, and then we can go.”

 

Remus gives Sirius a once over as he stands there in his leather jacket and torn jeans and those fucking boots and his throat tightens because he’s mad, but does he have the right to be mad, and isn’t this a silly thing to be mad about anyway. “Are you going to change?” he asks, his voice tight and his tone sharp.

 

Sirius gives him a withering look. “It’s just James and Lily. We’re not going to see the bloody queen or anything.”

 

Remus’s fists clench at his side and he makes his voice as even as possible which, given years of practice, is pretty damn even, he thinks. “They specifically asked that we dress up, just a little. Are you really going to show up like this for James and Lily? Make an effort, Sirius.” He thinks he might vomit.

 

“Jesus  _ Christ _ ,” Sirius mutters, then continues, louder, “Yes, okay, fine. Finish the pie.” As he brushes past Remus, knocking him against the doorframe, Remus wants to stop him and demand something, an explanation or a kiss or just one look. 

 

A few minutes later Sirius calls, “Ready,” and Remus emerges with the pie all wrapped up. Sirius was always able to wear his upbringing with casual pride, and he’s doing the same with his clothes tonight, a white shirt and black tie and pants that manage to look as expensive as they do rumpled. What really does Remus in, though, is the eyeliner Sirius has smeared on, which he must have known would have this effect.

 

So Remus, despite everything, reaches for a genuine smile and finds it. “You look amazing,” he says and hopes Sirius can hear that he means it. He thinks he must, because something uncertain seems to flash across the other man’s face before he returns the smile with Remus’s favorite grin, the one that looks like a surprise.

 

“Shall we?” he says, offering Remus his arm, and they apparate to the safe point in Godric’s Hollow and walk towards James and Lily’s house. They don’t speak as they walk, and Remus feels the silence like a vise. He burrows further and further into his head trying to find something to say that won’t make one or both of them mad, but by the time they knock on the Potters’ door he still hasn’t found anything.

 

James throws the door open and beams at them. “Brilliant!” he says it like it’s true. “Alice and Frank just got here, come on in!” He steps aside to let them in.

 

“Security question, dear,” Lily calls from inside the house. Remus can hear the inseparable fondness and frustration in her voice, neither one diminishing the other. Lily’s always been good at that, he thinks, at allowing contradictions without feeling a need to resolve them. 

 

James, chastened, turns first to Remus. “Most recent meal we ate together?”

 

“Indian takeaway at the flat, only you wouldn’t touch their naan because it wasn’t as good as your mum’s.”

 

James grins and nods, then faces Sirius. “What did your mum call me the last time I saw her?”

 

“An insufferable inbred ingrate. Pretty rich coming from her.” Remus can feel Sirius fairly buzzing, kinetic in the presence of friends. “Can we come in now?”

 

James waves them through, almost giddy, and hugs both of them. “Bloody hell, it’s been too long.”

 

Remus laughs a little. “It’s been two weeks.” He feels Sirius’s eyes bore into him and he hates it, so he starts to walk towards the kitchen to see Lily.

 

“Sure, two weeks since I saw  _ you _ ,” James argues, following him, “But how long since all of us were together? Must be ages.” That, Remus thinks, is probably true, and this too invites anxiety, because it’s possible that in that time something has fundamentally changed, and probably for the worse. With that thought swirling in his head, he smiles and greets Lily and Frank and Alice and Peter as warmly as he’s able to.

__________

 

At the first opportunity she gets, Alice leans into her husband and whispers, “He looks terrible.” He meets her eyes, level with his, and raises his eyebrows in assent. 

 

Alice hasn’t seen Remus Lupin in several months. Between his missions and hers and her child, it just hasn’t happened. It’s not like they were ever best friends or anything, of course, but as two of the planets closest in Lily’s orbit they shared an affinity and some secrets. Now, the boy she used to think was imperturbable is sticking as close to the wall as he can, as tight as a swollen cork in an old bottle. He’s laughing a little too hard at Peter’s jokes but his smile is never reaching his eyes.

 

Frank has turned to Sirius, who’s regaling him with a recent exploit. Alice is sick of exploits so she wanders towards Lily, who’s sitting near the babies’ pen with a glass of wine and a look of contented exhaustion.

 

As Alice sits, Lily smiles warmly and leans her head on the taller woman’s shoulder. “Look at them,” she yawns. “They’re already friends.”

 

Alice looks at their sons, each playing in opposite corners, and raises a skeptical eyebrow down at Lily. “Of course they are. Whatever you say.”

 

Lily reaches out and grabs her friend’s hand. Alice is not the sappy sort, but she can tell that a combination of sleeplessness, restlessness, hopelessness and wine have done a number on her friend, and so she lets Lily do what she must. “Oh, Alice,” she sighs. “It’s not fair.”

 

Alice steels herself, because she knows where Lily is going. “Few things are, these days.”

 

“I mean Marlene.” Of course she does. Alice knew that already. Lily continues. “She should be here. The three of us, taking on the world, right?”

 

Alice nods slowly. “I know, Lily. It’s terrible. But we keep going.”

 

“No, Alice. Don’t do that tonight, please.” Lily has always preferred to take her feelings and hold them up to the light, peering at them from every angle. She’s never understood Alice, with her orderly arrangements. Some things could be controlled, and some couldn’t, and Alice is very sad about some of the latter things but that doesn’t change the truth of them. Her feelings are blocks that stack neatly on top of each other, while Lily’s are multifaceted, each one a different shape and none of them interlocking.

 

Alice doesn’t have anything to say that might make Lily feel better, so she just squeezes her friend's hand and they sit in it, together. The enormity of what their lives have somehow become. But they sit and look at their sons, and that, at least, is good. Two boys who will inherit whatever world they’re able to save, two reasons to keep fighting.

 

After a few minutes, Lily abruptly stands. “I need to check on the kitchen.” Alice barely has time to rise before Lily is gone. Bemused, she sits right back down. The room is dim, and the noise is muffled in here. Alice has had little enough of a social life in the last six months, and this small party is enough to tax her patience. Sitting alone in the dark with only the sounds of Harry and Neville for company is a necessary break.

It doesn’t take long for James to wander in, though. He can’t go more than about ten minutes without physically holding Harry, reassuring himself of his son’s safety. Alice gets it, of course. She’s not quite so obsessive as James, but she too fears for her child. Seeing Alice, James furrows his brow. “Is Lily okay?” he asks.

Alice shrugs. “We were just sitting and having a chat and she up and left. For the kitchen, she said.”

James plops down next to Alice. “I think she was crying,” he mumbles.

Alice snorts. “Too much wine and too much wallowing. She’s thinking about Marlene.”

James nods slowly. “I wish…”

 

“I know.” Alice bumps her shoulder against James’s. “I wish.” Their lives are so different than they had planned, all of them. She usually doesn’t mind, but being here with her friends, as they pretend they can pretend things are normal, gives her a glimpse of that other life. The one where Harry and Neville play together all the time. The one where Marlene is alive and gets to marry Dorcas. The one where Frank’s silence holds nothing worse than daily troubles. The one where she is as fearless as she now pretends to be.

James picks up Harry and makes noises at him to the boy’s delight. Alice marvels that the same boy who less than five years ago turned the raisins in her scone into ants is now a doting father. And a good one. Overcome with a wave of affection, she puts an arm around him. “It’s good to see you, James.” 

__________

 

Peter isn’t nervous. He isn’t. He’s not nervous, he’s not ashamed. He’s enjoying the party as much as he can. He’s talking to Remus, then to Sirius, planting different doubts in each one’s mind. He talks to Frank and Alice, which is fine. He avoids talking to Lily. The glass in his hand is emptied, then refilled, then quickly emptied again.

 

He’s not nervous but the drink isn’t doing its job properly, and that’s annoying. The drink isn’t working, Sirius won’t stand still long enough to listen, and Remus doesn’t seem to hear a single word anyone’s saying. James is being kind. James is happy. Peter pours himself another drink. When will they eat? He needs to sit. 

 

From the dining room, a voice like a gong. Frank. “Dinner is ready!” Peter drifts into a seat, Alice on his left, Remus on his right. He isn’t nervous. 


	2. Chapter 2

As James takes a seat, he feels his chest fill with good will. These are the people he’s fighting for. This is what matters. After so much isolation it’s good to be reminded why they bother. 

Lily sits at the head of the table and he’s on her right, squeezing her hand under the table as she explains all the dishes. It’s a fairly ridiculous meal: Remus and Sirius brought Devon pie, Alice made some sort of roast and Frank brought lumpia, Peter provided loads of alcohol, and James made chicken tikka masala and a massive batch of naan. It all promises to be delicious, and the cheerful chaos of the dishes reminds James of his friends themselves. 

They all take a few minutes to serve themselves. The babies are strapped in high chairs, occasionally babbling. Sirius, sitting on James’s right, is wound up and seems ready to spring as he reaches over everyone for his favorite dishes. On the other side of the table from them sit Remus, Peter, and Alice, with Frank opposite Lily. It doesn’t escape James’s attention that Remus and Sirius are as far from each other as they can be at this small table. He makes eye contact with Lily; from their prolonged seclusion they’ve gained an almost telepathic knowledge of each other. He thinks that she can see what he’s saying: afterwards, you’ll take Remus, and I’ll take Sirius, and we’ll get to the bottom of this.

Lily raises her wine glass before everyone digs in. “A toast?” Everyone complies. “Here’s to us, making it here. Making the time for each other. Here’s to Harry and Neville. And to Marlene.” She nearly downs the glass, and James can still see the potential tears waiting around her eyelids. He puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes it. He wants so much for her to be happy, it hurts. 

Sirius, tearing into a piece of naan, grins. It looks like his atoms are buzzing, he has so much energy tonight. “I’ll never forget that night Marlene took me to see Bowie. Showed up at the flat at 11 and barely told me where we were going, but that look in her eye...Like she knew just exactly what everyone needed.” He sighs. “Jesus. That must have been one of the best nights of my life. Didn’t get home til gone six.” He’s smiling and suddenly stiller, and James wills him to stay that way.

Remus laughs a little. “She told me the week before, asked if it should be a surprise. I told her you’d go mental waiting for ten days if you knew you’d be seeing him, she should just turn up and whisk you off.” He glances up only briefly, mostly staring at his plate as he remembers.

Alice rolls her eyes. “Marlene certainly had a flair for the dramatic. Waltzed into our room first year, haughty as anything, and claimed half the room just for herself. Scared Lily pantsless.”

“Oh, she did not,” Lily protests. “I was perfectly at ease.”

“Of course, if by ‘at ease’ you mean scared pantsless,” Alice grins.

James laughs as Lily defends her long-ago self. As the women trade barbs across the table, Peter smiles broadly but stays silent as his eyes pingpong between the two. To James’s right Sirius and Frank begin a quiet conversation about the deterioration of the free press, but he’ll have no part in that tonight. 

Everything is not fine. Of course it isn’t. But right now, it’s almost alright. He grabs another piece of naan and savors every bite.

__________

 

Frank leans back in his chair, perfectly situated to see every one of his friends at once. Sirius keeps bouncing between conversational partners and has momentarily turned away from Frank. This gives him a wonderful opportunity to watch. 

He still feels paternal. He was two years ahead of all of them at school, and even though it’s been ages since he was a student, there’s something about seeing all of these faces in one place again that has him feel almost like a prefect again. 

Alice, of course, is a different matter. He gazes at her now as she loses patience with Peter’s unfunny jokes. “You need to learn how to tell a proper story, Peter. You can’t lead with the punchline,” she tells him, shaking her head. Frank smiles to himself.

Before they left the house, Alice had placed her hands on Frank’s shoulders. “We’ll have fun tonight,” she said as though conceding a point, “But we need to make sure no one’s lost it. Most of these people already had a rough go of it. This summer has been shit. We need to check up on them.” 

Frank had agreed to help her. It was a goal in which their complementary strengths would be highlighted, he thought. She notices the details that give something away. He won’t be surprised if, at the end of the night, she tells him exactly how many drinks each person had. Frank, on the other hand, will barely be able to say what color anyone was wearing, but he will have taken the emotional temperature of everyone here.

Sirius, he can tell, is teetering on the edge of some cliff, and though Frank doesn’t know exactly what it is, it looks like he’ll fall off before a week is out. He’s whispering some joke to James now, and the two crack up as Lily shoots her husband an exasperated look. 

She leans forward and asks Frank across the table, “How is your mother?” Lily had met her at Frank and Alice’s wedding and the two had struck up an odd sort of friendship, exchanging occasional letters and, far more frequently, insisting Frank give each one detailed reports on the other. He opens his mouth to answer, but Alice speaks first.

“His mother is an absolute menace to the neighborhood. Which is a good thing, since her neighborhood is being overrun with would-be death eaters.” Alice laughs a little, nudging Frank. “Tell them about the Mortensons.”

“Oh, Lord. She’s a very...creative witch, you know. And this family, the Mortensons, they were having meetings in their house, one of those grassroots pro-Voldemort leagues you hear about. My mother wouldn’t stand for that, of course.”

Alice interrupts with a startlingly accurate impression of Frank’s mother. “‘These fools don’t know what real trials are! Wait til you’ve trudged across Vichy France with your dead-beat husband and someone else’s baby! What do they think they can complain about? They think this Voldemort character has any real solutions for them? Idiots, all of them!’” She concludes with unintelligible muttering as the table cracks up.

When Frank recovers himself, he continues. “So what does she do, well, she sets up a spell--don’t ask me quite how--so that when they have their meetings, and only then, any person who walks into that door becomes a cat. A bloody  _ cat. _ Really, the woman’s mad.” He says this as his friends all laugh, but mad or not, he admires his mother a great deal. 

So does Lily, of course, who laughs the longest at the anecdote. She seems weak tonight, somehow, like she can’t quite bring herself to enjoy the evening. Yes, she’s laughing and drinking and making eyes at James, but her affect is wrong somehow. Frank thinks about the glass vase at home with radiant irises and murky water.

Things are not fine. The table is full of desperate people trying to forget about their lives, and Frank is especially worried about Remus and Peter. As the former continues to smile down into his napkin like he wishes he could fold up into it, and the latter drinks more and more and loses the pretense of levity, Frank makes notes to share with Alice later. Something about the way Peter looks at Sirius tonight… It’s all unsettling. Frank sips his wine and leans back again.

__________

 

The baby wails. Lily and James simultaneously stand and rush to coo at his side. Peter looks away. No, no, no. Focus on goals. Things need to happen tonight, specific things. Not pitying the baby, not regretting his pragmatism. 

He turns to Remus who looks like he wants to run. He makes sure Sirius is occupied. He is, talking with Frank in low, serious tones. He turns to Remus. “Alright, mate?”

Remus’s head snaps up. Peter registers the shock a minute late. “Yeah, of course. Tired, that’s all.” Peter knows that smile is fake.

He leans in. Offers Remus solidarity. His voice lowers. “Is it Sirius?”

One of Remus’s hands reaches reflexively for his hair. “Peter--sorry. I’m not sure--Maybe we can talk later.”

But later there won’t be a screaming baby, later others will want to talk to Remus, later… Peter nearly whispers. “He  _ has  _ been acting suspicious lately, though. I see it too, don’t worry.” Every word seems to ratchet up the tension Remus is already feeling. Peter hates to see it. His poor friend. “Just tell me if you notice anything else, yeah?”

Remus stands abruptly, drawing everyone’s attention. Especially Sirius’s. He mutters something and slips off to the bathroom. Peter sits back in his chair. He notices too late Frank’s keen eye on him. Can’t be good.

__________

 

As the meal begins to slow, James catches Lily’s eye and she nods. Time to get to the bottom of things. Alice is trying to engage Peter and Remus in conversation, and neither are being particularly cooperative. Lily stands and puts a hand on Remus’s shoulder, startling him. “Will you come help me put Harry to bed?” she asks softly.

Frank smiles gratefully at Lily. Sometimes she forgets how clever he really is, not just in the ways everyone sees, but more quietly. Everyone knows he could hex you up and down, but not everyone knows how much he notices.

Remus stands and follows Lily slowly as she heads for the nursery, Harry in her arms. He was already falling asleep in his high chair, and so putting him to bed isn’t too tricky. Once he’s down, Remus makes as if to head back to the dining room but Lily stops him in the hallway. “Remus,” she says gently, “What’s wrong?”

He looks like nothing but chance is keeping him from collapsing. He looks Lily in the eye for a long time and she thinks he’s trying to tell her everything without saying a word. Finally, he slides down the wall to sit against it, and she follows suit.

“Lily, I don’t know how to do this. I don’t think I can much longer.” His voice is barely steady.

“Do what?” she asks. She wonders what it is about her that invites confidences. Some days she’s glad of it, and sometimes it makes her crazy. Today she hopes it works on Remus.

“Jesus. All of it. Living with him. He won’t hardly talk to me, so I do the same. We haven’t had sex in weeks and weeks. He’s always off and I don’t know where, half the time. Could be Order business, could be anything.” Remus is obsessively scratching his shoulder. He won’t look at Lily, but he’s not crying yet. “I just--I haven’t been okay all summer. These fucking missions Dumbledore has me on, they’re going to kill me. But home’s no better.” His words don’t say all that much she didn’t know, but the way he says them is excruciating. Like each sentence is being ripped out of his gut.

Lily takes a moment to absorb the pain in her friend’s voice, which is more than she realized there would be. “I’m sorry, Remus. That sounds terrible.” What else can she say? She wraps an arm around his shoulder and he finally starts crying. Quietly, she casts a  _ muffliato _ to protect his privacy.

“I’m sorry,” he manages. “Ruining your dinner party. Werewolves really do make terrible houseguests.” She laughs with him there.

“It’s okay. I promise. I just wish there was anything I could do.” There’s not, which is vaguely frustrating, but she considers the situation. “I think you need to break the silence, Remus. Tell him something, even something small first. The bastard is too stubborn to do it himself.” Remus laughs weakly. Lily squeezes his shoulder. “You’re working yourself to the bone for the Order. The least you deserve is a home that feels like home and a partner that acts like a partner.”

As his sniffles grow further apart, he gives her a small smile. “God. You’re the best.”

“Well, yes.” She grins. “Can I clean you up so we can eat some cake and end this godforsaken dinner party?” 

__________

 

The cake disappears almost as soon as it’s served. Sirius offers to help James clean and buzzes over to the kitchen. He assures everyone else that they’ve got it handled, they’ll be fine, please just enjoy yourselves. 

So he has James alone in the kitchen. Glancing at the doorway, he casts a quick  _ muffliato _ and turns to his friend. James is already starting the dishes and eyes Sirius. “So,” James begins, his best attempts at nonchalance not very good. “How are things with you and Remus?”

Sirius rolls his eyes and finds he’s bouncing on his heels a little. “You can’t be worrying about the state of my relationship, James, not now. Listen, I think--”

“Now hold on. Don’t change the subject. I’ve noticed all night now--”

“No, shut up. This is important.” Sirius needs James to hear this and he needs James to agree. This thing that’s been simmering in his mind for weeks needs an outlet. No part of his head is screwed in quite right but he’s  _ sure _ this is real. James is still using his wand to clean the dishes, but he’s leaned against a counter, giving Sirius the pointedly patient look. That look is as familiar to Sirius as his favorite worn-out boots, and he tries to take some comfort from it. “You know we have a spy.” James nods. “Don’t you think it might be…” He trails off, willing James to jump in with the same suspicion. 

He doesn’t, and instead puts aside the dishes and furrows his brow at Sirius. “Do you know who it is?”

Sirius paces the tiny kitchen, shoving off of counters and pulling on his hair. “I think--or, I  _ know _ \--or--it’s Remus.” He stares at James, waiting for affirmation in his friend’s eyes, some sign of  _ my god, you’re right, it all adds up.  _

Instead James’s face flashes horror and pity. “Sirius--no. Merlin. What are you talking about?” 

Sirius is _ not _ wrong about this. “It makes sense, James. The things the spy knows. That level of access, it has to be someone close. Remus lately, he’s been so weird, and secretive, and always gone...”

James has been shaking his head the whole time Sirius has been talking. “ _ No _ . You can’t do this. Christ, Sirius,  _ you’ve _ been weird and secretive and off god knows where. That’s not an argument and you know it. You need to snap out of it.”

And for James, it probably was that easy, Sirius thinks with some bitterness. Thoughts measured, one against the other, rather than stacking every higher into a precarious tower. “There’s nothing to snap out of,” he insists. He wonders if he’ll ever be still again. He doubts it. “I have it written down--proof--reasons.” Sirius looks upwards, knowing exactly how it sounds when he says, “Come on, James. If you were him? Three years out of Hogwarts, smartest kid to ever graduate, and nothing?”

James narrows his eyes and Sirius wants to shrink. Or to punch him. “I want you to say it out loud. I want you to hear yourself. What are you trying to say?” James’s voice is quiet and almost dangerous in a way that’s seldom aimed at Sirius.

He slams a counter because he hates himself as he replies. “He’s a werewolf. Okay? Come  _ on _ . You’ve never thought it, how it might be for him? What choice would you make? He’s a fucking werewolf.”

James explodes then. “And you’re a fucking Black! What choice would you make? What choices  _ have  _ you made? Lord knows I’ve thought about both of your situations. And I trust you both. I  _ cannot _ believe you would think that way about Remus.”

Sirius wants to scream. “There’s  _ proof _ .” Hadn’t he just been over it all earlier today? Why wasn’t it coming to mind? Quieter, more scared, he repeats, “There’s proof. There is. Ask Peter.”

James laughs, a hard, abrupt thing. “Oh my god. Have you roped Peter into your conspiracy theory? That is despicable.” They both take a moment to breathe, neither looking at the other. James finally asks, desperate, mad, and quiet, “Can you explain to me? The proof? I don’t understand why you would think this.”

Sirius’s mind won’t be still, but he tries to make it so. He tries to sort through it all, and he finds he can’t. Nothing comes to mind, nothing except James’s expression of remorse and the silence that has been slowly ossifying between him and Remus. He shuts his eyes and says softly, “I promise. It’s all written down at home.” He  _ hates  _ being the crazy one. He’s so sick of it. He needs this to be true, because his head is full of it. 

James starts washing dishes again as he replies. “Think about Marlene, Sirius. That could be any of us tomorrow. We don’t know. I think you’re acting irrationally and it’s only going to make you more miserable. Just--what if he didn’t make it back? You’d want this to be how you treated him?”

“Of course not.” Sirius throws his hands up. “If he weren’t the spy. And if he is? If me trusting him--you trusting him--leads to more deaths?” James says nothing, just fixes Sirius with a long stare. Sirius does his best not to look away.

Finally, James sighs and pulls Sirius into an unexpected hug. “That’s what this bloody war is all about, Sirius. Destroying trust. Don’t let them win, for Christ’s sake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hopefully another chapter will arrive...before too long? Hard to say as finals approach, but check back in to see the evening wrap up!


	3. Chapter 3

Lily waves goodbye as Peter, the last to drunkenly leave, shuffles out the door. James lets it swing shut, and turns to her. Most of his bouncing levity has evaporated, but he gives her a sweet, sweet smile. Oh, she loves his sweetness, the _goodness_ of this man. She stands and realizes how the wine has impacted not only her thoughts but her fine motor skills.

“Dear, let me--” James starts, reaching out, and she leans into his arms.

“I love you, James, but that was _not_ as promised.” She snorts a little. “What a miserable group we were.”

James looks at her in shock. “I thought it went splendidly, for the most part. Until the end, I suppose.”

“No, James, no--look. Look. Everyone around that table wanted to be somewhere else.”

His wounded expression only increases her affection for him as he responds. “Not me, Lily. I’m sorry you felt that way. Sirius and I were having fun, and Frank and Alice, I think.”

“Hm. Well, maybe it’s just me. Miserable bitch.”

_“Lily._ Please. Let’s...let’s get ready for bed.”

“Okay, handsome,” she grins, aiming a kiss somewhere around his mouth and making that approximate target. He gently guides her up the stairs, and she plops herself on the bed without changing. How lovely, she thinks, to have a bed and a lover to share it with. She tries making eyes at James, but he’s busy changing. She supposes she ought to, too.

“Lily…” he starts. “I need to tell you what Sirius said.”

She groans. Nothing to kill the mood like dragging Sirius into the bedroom. As James turns to face her again, she acquiesces when she sees the concern on his face. Propping up her head in her hand, she tells him, “I have to say I take a pretty dim view of Sirius, from my perspective, or Remus’s perspective, I guess.”

James laughs darkly and lies down next to Lily. “Me too. He thinks…” He squeezes his eyes shut. “He thinks Remus is the spy.”

Lily blinks slowly. Remus’s distress and confusion earlier begins to make sense, Sirius’s behavior explained by his paranoid suspicion. “What a...what an arsehole.” It’s the only thing she can think to say. James looks so pained. She knows that, barring a marauder _actually_ being the spy, one accusing another of it, such dissolution of the brotherhood, is the worst thing James could imagine. This must absolutely wrench him. “I’m sorry,” she says more softly, trying to force herself sober.

He breathes deeply. “Me too. I can’t understand it, other than to chalk it up to...well, you know Sirius isn’t always all _there_.” And that’s always James excuse, Lily thinks. He has excuses for everyone: Sirius is mad, Remus is troubled by his past, Peter is lonely. She wonders how he excuses her poor behavior.

“Remus is a complete and utter wreck,” she says, trying to imbue it with weight. “I’ve never seen him so bad.” James nods slowly.

“At least Alice and Frank seem well,” he says halfheartedly. It was true, as it always was.

“Not Peter, though.”

“No, not Peter.”

She carefully studies the quilt. “And us?”

James sighs and strokes Lily’s hair, and she leans into the touch. “Us?” he repeats. “What do you think? Are we well?”

Oh, she wants to be, so very badly. She thinks about their sleeping child, about their dinner party, about the two of them falling asleep in each others’ arms. All sound idyllic, but the reality of it is far messier. Finally she shuts her eyes and buries her face in the quilt. “I’m not. Marlene’s not.”

James’s face probably fills with sorrow, but she’s very intentionally not looking. He finally responds. “Lily...I wish I could…”

“I know,” she mumbles. “I know you do, that you would just...fix it all. Change my life.” He would try, if he could, but she would probably never let him. If there were a spell to cast to fix her life, and only James Potter could cast it, she would suffer on.

She shifts so that she’s staring into his eyes, so close to her own. “I love you, James. I’m sorry that this is how it has to be.”

He kisses her gently. “I love you too. Truly.” Maybe tomorrow, Lily thinks, she can change everything. Maybe she’ll find something in this house that months of solitude have kept hidden, something that will open up the world like a gate to a garden.

___________

 

“So, what do you make of it all?” Alice asks when Frank walks back into the kitchen. He’s just put the still-sleeping Neville to bed, and Alice, gesturing to a hot cup of cocoa, invites him to sit at the table with her.

Frank makes a noncommittal noise and sips on his cocoa. “Delicious, thank you so much. Well, I was quite worried about Remus and Peter. Sirius seemed about as he always is. James seemed alright, but Lily...I was surprised, really, that she seemed so gloomy.”

Alice raises an eyebrow. “It has been four months since she’s been able to regularly leave the house, come and go as she pleases. Sure, she gets out sometimes, but under strict supervision. And she’s been told her infant son has a target on his back.” They exchange glances. “I am not shocked that Lily is depressed. Think about her at school, Frank.”

He shakes his head and smiles. “What a whip she was. Lily and Alice...and Marlene. Running around _just_ inside the line of acceptable behavior, kicking everyone else’s arses in class and always aiming higher.”

“Jesus, I miss her,” Alice whispers. She lets Frank comfort her, because he is the one from whom she can hide nothing. She takes a gulp of cocoa and burns her tongue. “Shit,” she whispers, and Frank tries not to laugh. “I’m also concerned about Peter and Remus, though. Peter drank _a lot_. And Remus had almost no share in the conversation. I wonder if he was ill.”

“He was anxious as hell, dear. I think if he could have disappeared entirely, he would have. Do you know anything about his missions?” She shakes her head. “Me neither. I wonder about them, though…”

Alice nods thoughtfully. “Tell me more from your side, Frank.” That Remus was ill at ease she had noticed, but Frank gave her new information.

“I think...I think Peter is the one to be most worried about. He’s so _changed_. His entire energy is different, the way he holds himself. He used to aim to please, and he was endearing, wasn’t he? You at least could tell he saw you in a room. Tonight, he was acting like no one was there but him, even when he was talking to us.”

“Hm.” Alice nods. “I suppose you must be right, but...what do we do? What do we even think it means?”

Frank furrows his brow as he looks straight down. “Well, of course it could just be the war, the way it’s getting to everyone.”

She knows that tone. “Or?”

He sighs and stands, looking out the window at the inky night. “Or. Or, it could be _him._ He could be… you know.”

Alice knows exactly what he’s implying. _“Frank,”_ she snaps her head around. “Do you think so?” It feels like a suspicion she would have had before Frank would. But perhaps the knowledge he gleaned was simply the right data set to point to such an absurd conclusion.

He runs his hands through his hair. “I don’t know, I don’t know. And I hate that I said it, I hate that I thought it. But there you have it. He has the right information, he was acting like he had something to be ashamed of, and I just have a feeling. It’s not proof, it’s not actionable. We can’t just write to Dumbledore, _We had a dinner party and now we know who the spy is._ I don’t think we should talk about it, even. But...something to be mindful of. To keep a watch, maybe.”

Alice takes a measured sip. “I never would have thought that between the two of us, you’d be the first one to accuse a friend.” He turns to her, hurt in his face, but sees the mirth in her eyes and softens.

“Merlin, Alice. We can’t be joking about this.”

She stands, approaches him, and wraps her arms around his shoulders. “If you don’t let me joke about things I’m filing for divorce immediately.” He returns her grin. In their house, in their kitchen, in this moment, Alice feels safe and even happy. She can’t change the deaths that are hounding them, she can’t change her friends’ behavior for them, she can’t change Frank’s mind. But some things don’t need changing, perhaps. Some things are fine exactly as they are, and kissing your husband in a kitchen that smells of cocoa is certainly one of them.

________________

 

Sirius has been silent since they left the Potters’ house. Not just silent, Remus thinks, but subdued. Sirius is capable of making quite a lot of _noise_ even when he’s quiet, noise in Remus’s head, but now he seems...still. Thoughtful.

They walk into the flat and Remus heads to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. The knot that’s been living in his stomach is comfortable here, familiar territory: act like things are okay and worry like hell; ignore that Sirius is ignoring you; ignore him right back; make tea.

This has become routine. Remus prepares himself tea, and Sirius runs up their water bill in the shower or goes to a bar or goes to sleep. But not tonight, apparently, because Sirius has followed him into the kitchen and hopped up to sit on the counter, and Remus wonders if this is it, the inevitable. Masking his fear, he lifts an eyebrow. “Would you like a cup?”

Sirius shrugs. “Sure.” Remus can feel the other man’s eyes on him as he reaches for the mugs, and he feels about fifteen again, warring with himself and pretending not to. He hands Sirius his tea, and the other man immediately sets it down. “Moony,” he says so softly it might as well be a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Remus doesn’t immediately respond, because he’s not sure how to. He leans back against the wall opposite Sirius and takes a long sip of his tea, staring at the ground. What, exactly, is he sorry about? Should Remus be sorry, too? It’s been so long since Sirius has called him Moony.

Finally, Remus looks up again, and Sirius seems scared, which makes Remus melt a little. Why is this always the case: Sirius apologizes, and Remus ends up being the one who feels guilty? Now doesn’t feel like the time to change an old pattern, though, so Remus gives in and responds, though half of him wants to leave the room without a word. “What are you sorry for?” he asks, giving Sirius an opening.

Sirius takes it. “Everything, this whole summer, everything. Whatever I do next. Tonight. Yesterday.” He breathes in deeply. “I’m sorry for not talking to you. I’m sorry for my mind.”

Remus sets his mug down carefully and steps towards Sirius. Sitting on the counter, his face is just about level with Remus’s, and Remus carefully runs a hand through Sirius’s hair. It’s been too long since he’s felt he could do this and not worry. He’s still worrying, perhaps, but Sirius has cracked something that was forming between them, hopefully before it was too late, and Remus is willing to help. “Padfoot…” He wonders when, if not now, the thing in his gut will sit still, because for a moment aren’t things all as they should be? Isn’t this the _right_ way?

Sirius buries his head in Remus’s neck and takes a shaky breath. “I don’t know what’s going on in my brain. I hate it. I hate it.” Remus hates it, too, sometimes, that brain of Sirius’s, with all its twisting roads that lead right off the edge of the map. With determined conviction, Sirius adds, “I don’t hate you. I _don’t_. I love you.”

They never stopped saying they loved each other, over the months, but they stopped saying it with any truth. Remus isn’t sure he can reciprocate, right now, but he knows that somewhere he still feels it, so he gently lifts Sirius’s head and kisses him softly.

Sirius responds hesitantly at first, but then wraps his arms around Remus’s waist and brings him closer. Remus lets everything else in his mind fade out in the face of the immediate. At some point he pulls Sirius off the counter, reemphasizing the difference in height between the two, and from somewhere in the back of his throat he tells Sirius, “I miss you.”

Sirius’s fingers carefully descend down Remus’s shirt, exposing his chest button by button, and Remus mirrors the action far more impatiently. They look at each other in a way they haven’t in months. As his eyes drink in Sirius, he feels his stomach twist again. His fingers float towards the other man’s ribs. “Jesus. You’re so thin,” he whispers. How has he not noticed Sirius wasting away? How could he have missed this atrophy?

Sirius, meanwhile, is tracing a network of scabs, not yet scarred over, that cross most of Remus’s stomach. As each absorbs what their silence has let them miss, Remus is flooded with love for Sirius, and so, since the other man cracked the wall, he pushes it down and says, with truth and feeling, “I love you.” Sirius looks up sharply, something hard or scared in his eyes, so Remus repeats himself. “I _love_ you.”

It doesn’t change much, Remus thinks, not really, but maybe it’s enough to have this, now, just for tonight. Their eyes meet for a long moment and each man is still holding something back, hiding in a corner, but they close their eyes and Remus tries to silence his fear in Sirius’s arms.

__________

It’s not enough, it’s never enough, the cigarette burnt out too quickly, the alcohol burning off like it’s on a stove, the streetlights burning a hole in his eyes. Peter doesn’t know where he’s going, this is too hard, it’s too much to ask of a man to eat naan and pudding with his best friends _no_ with his childhood friends _no_ with the people he will destroy.

He will destroy them.

And why? There must be a good reason, he knows there is because he’s had this conversation with himself a hundred times. He will not die, he will not be left behind. He will not be the one to take the blame and nothing else. He will destroy them.

Everything is in motion already, there’s almost nothing left to do, just the last push. Sirius doesn’t trust anyone but James now, Remus jumps at his own shadow. James trusts everyone still, which is how Peter needs it, _trust_ is such a funny thing and no one knows that like Peter.

Peter stops, leans over the embankment, looks at the river like he’s looking at a dream. No one in the world knows he’s in London. No one knows _anything_.

There are good reasons for everything Peter has ever done. This is the same. _Human nature, boy, preservation, that’s just evolution for you._ Who said that to him? Too long ago to remember but it must have left an impression. Peter Pettigrew will not be destroyed.

He will destroy them, and it’s not a _good_ thought, but they have already destroyed themselves. So perhaps what comes next won’t be his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long-delayed update--First finals, and then holidays, left me with very little time. It was also pretty hard for me to write the last piece here--just your run of the mill writer's block, I guess, but it has been SO frustrating. All that to say I'm not in *love* with how things wrap up, but I'm happy to have finished this piece at last! Thank you so so much for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! The title comes from the song "One too many mornings" by Joan Baez (because I'm undeniably That Bitch tm).


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